Writing is writing whether done for duty, profit, or fun.

Overture

Posted on April 21, 2010

There’s this dream I keep having. It comes in many forms, but it’s pretty much the same dream.

I’m standing in a half lit hallway. It’s a dull green color, at least that’s how the light illuminates it. Upon the back wall, there’s a movie playing. It’s a possibility movie, another reality playing before my eyes. I begin to crumble.

I shake awake and I’m standing in an empty room. Outside, there’s a vibration – the sounds and feeling of an ongoing party I wasn’t invited to. My hands are balled into fists. I know I’m suppose to do something – find away out of my situation, but my mind isn’t allowing me to.

Then I feel it, that lurking fear. Creeps up my spine and down the sides of me. I’m being held down by something and I’m struggling to get up. Wake up, I keep telling myself. It’s only a dream.

I remember when I was younger. I usually left signs to let me know I was dreaming. Somehow that doesn’t work anymore.